Coffee Grounds
by jainanicole
Summary: "I saw a world without John Doggett today –I hope I never do that again." Post-Ep for "4D". This is my first attempt at a DRR fic, and I'm still not sure if I *agree* with that relationship, but I felt that it had to be written, so...enjoy! Please R/


Title – Coffee Grounds  
  
Author - Jaina Scully  
  
E-Mail address - auggie19@hotmail.com  
  
Archive – Sure, wherever you want… just as long as you let *me* know where. (And credit me, please!!)  
  
Rating – PG-13  
  
Spoilers – "4D"  
  
Summary – "I saw a world without John Doggett today –I hope I never do that again."  
  
1  
  
Disclaimer: Obviously, the characters *don't* belong to me. They belong to the almighty Chris Carter and his minions. I'm just borrowing them to have a little fun. (No! I didn't mean that, get your mind out of the gutter! Besides, that'll come later…*mischievous grin*)  
  
  
  
COFFEE GROUNDS  
  
  
  
I can't sleep.  
  
This damned apartment is too noisy. When I bought the place, I didn't realize how *loud* DC was, how much traffic there is, even at this hour of night. If I had known, I...*probably would have moved here anyway, Monica.* A nagging voice pipes up in the back of my head, but I will it away, irritated. "Shut up." Great. Now I'm talking to myself. I must really be losing it...this lack of sleep is going to my brain.  
  
To be honest, it isn't the traffic that's keeping me up. It's the knowledge of what happened today –or, at least, what I *think* happened. John Doggett died. I stood beside him as he did so, held his cold, lifeless hand with my own. I saw him take his last breath, and then watched the life drain out of him in one, quick moment. And in that instant, I felt my life drain away, too. For the first time in a long time, I felt lonely. Empty. I hadn't realized how close I've become to this man, how much I depend on him to be there for me. And –god damn him- he always is. Then, all of a sudden, today, he wasn't. He was gone, and there was nothing that I could do about it. Even now, remembering, I feel hot tears cloud my eyes. John Doggett died...  
  
So why is he still alive?  
  
Is there really a parallel universe, one where John Doggett no longer exists? Is it really just luck of the draw, a random act of chance that I live is *this* world instead of that one, that I still have MY Doggett? Is there another "me" out there somewhere, crying for her dead partner, her lost chance??  
  
I hope not.  
  
I saw a world without John Doggett today –I hope I never do that again.  
  
All of a sudden, I feel a need to call him, to reassure myself that he's all right. I dial his phone number, hastily. By the third ring, I'm feeling panic begin to build up inside me. What if he's NOT all right? What if he really *is* dead?? What if I'm calling an out-of-service number, one that will ring endlessly, echoing in an empty apartment because its owner is dead, dead, dead? I want to cry, to scream, but –thankfully- a voice interrupts my thoughts, the sleep-addled voice of my partner.  
  
"Doggett…"  
  
I feel relief wash over me, and my voice catches in my throat. Doggett speaks again, and I can hear him waking up, becoming more alert. He sounds wary.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
I don't answer. I can't.  
  
His voice takes on a sharp edge.  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
I can almost *see* his eyes narrowing... All of a sudden, I freeze. This was a dumb idea...what was I thinking?? I wasn't thinking, really, I just needed to hear his voice. Now that I have... I move to hang up the phone, but in the process I knock my clock off of my bedside table. "Shit," I mutter, not realizing that I have not set the handset down yet. John's voice comes again, this time sounding strangely tinny and far-away.  
  
"Monica?"  
  
Shit. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. I slam down the handset, and roll over, burying my face in my pillow. Bad move, Monica. John is fine, I am fine...yet, here I am, acting like a twelve-year old. The little voice in my head speaks up again. *Except most twelve-year olds haven't watched their best friends die.*  
  
I shake my head, urging the voice to shut up, and close my eyes tightly. Sleep, though, is a long time coming.  
  
*****************************  
  
I am awakened – an hour later? A minute later? – by pounding on my front door. Who the hell...? I grab my watch and am startled to find that only 25 minutes have passed. Pulling on an old t-shirt and some pajama pants, I head down the hall, the pounding growing louder and louder as I approach the door. I move to unlatch it, but then catch myself. This isn't New Orleans, anymore. I warily eye the peephole, and then laugh to myself for being afraid. Agent Scully's paranoia must be catching... I am startled to find that it is a very frazzled-looking John Doggett who is standing outside my door. Hastily, I unlatch the door, and open it.  
  
As soon as it's open, he comes flying through, a frantic look on his chiseled face. I step back, surprised. This is so uncharacteristic of him, it's not even funny...  
  
"Agent Reyes? You alright?"  
  
I'm wondering the same thing.  
  
"John?"  
  
His voice softens, and I can see his face relax –with relief, I'm guessing, although *why* is beyond me...  
  
"Monica."  
  
It is not a question; not like mine was. It is more of a statement, an assurance.  
  
I step towards him, worried.  
  
"John? What's going on?"  
  
He closes his eyes and then opens them again. His voice comes out tight, strained.  
  
"I got your phone call...I, uh...I didn't know if you were alright."  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
"I...I hung up." Well, duh, Monica, tell him something that he doesn't know.  
  
He nods. "I know. I just got afraid that you were hurt or somethin', that you wouldn't have called otherwise."  
  
"Oh...I'm sorry...I'm not, I just…" How the hell do I explain this?? "Nevermind." I shut the door behind him. "Do you want some coffee, or something?"  
  
He nods, and I can see that he's still checking me over, making sure I'm all right.  
  
"That'd be great."  
  
*****************************  
  
"Mon...?"  
  
I barely acknowledge him, my head tilted and eyes closed.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Why do you date him?"  
  
I know who he's talking about, of course I do, but I settle for playing dumb.  
  
"Who?"  
  
His voice is harsh, so many emotions conveyed in just one little word.  
  
"Follmer."  
  
Woah. I can feel myself blush, and I snap open my eyes, fixing them on Doggett's steely blue ones.  
  
"I wasn't aware that I *do* date him."  
  
Now, it's John's turn to blush. He turns away, stuttering.  
  
"Oh...I'm sorry."  
  
I don't respond. I'm curious to hear what he has to say, why he said that, and I've found that the best way to get that out of a person is just to let them talk. Sure enough, after a moment's silence, he continues on.  
  
"It's just that I...it's just what I'd heard, y'know, around the office."  
  
I laugh, relieved, and give him a small grin.  
  
"Now, John," I say, my tone reprimanding, but with a hint of laughter, "you know you shouldn't place *any* stock in what you hear at work."  
  
He grins back at me, and I can feel my heart constrict.  
  
"I know *that*," he says, sounding indignant.  
  
There is a long silence, and I smile, stretching my neck, rolling my head from side to side in an attempt to get all the knots out. Then, before my courage can fail me, I begin to talk.  
  
"I did."  
  
He doesn't ask me to explain, doesn't say anything; merely waits, knowing that there is more coming.  
  
"I dated him for...quite a while. God, I don't even remember how long it was anymore, I just remember that it was *there*. He was like, the one constant in my life, the one thing I could always depend on. I don't know what it was about him, though, that I liked...He's not the easiest person to get along with, as you might have noticed."  
  
John laughs.  
  
"I noticed."  
  
I smile back at him. "Yeah...but I guess there's just something about him, that makes him safe, you know, but at the same time...dangerous. I could never quite figure out whether he was the good guy or the rebel , and I'm still not exactly sure. "  
  
The little voice in my head is laughing at me right now, telling me how stupid I sound, and so I stumble to a stop, flustered.  
  
"I'm sorry, John, I'm not making *any* sense, am I?"  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
"No, I get it."  
  
I flash him a quick smile, but my mind is already at work trying to think of ways to change the subject. He must think I'm an idiot...  
  
His voice breaks into my thoughts.  
  
"Which did you want him to be?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said you couldn't tell whether he was the good guy or the rebel...which did you want him to be?"  
  
My head spins...Why is he asking me this???  
  
"Uhh...I don't kn...I guess I never really thought…" I realize that I am stuttering at almost the exact same moment that I realize he isn't talking about Brad, at all.  
  
He stares at me from across the table, and I find myself staring back, unable to pull my eyes away from his. Time seems to stop, and all of a sudden I get the feeling that I am not HERE, not feeling this...that I am watching this scene be played out from a distance. I know that he is going to kiss me, but at the same time, I am not sure. Do I want this to happen? Yes, No, Maybe So... The childish rhyme floats thorough my head, taunting me, daring me to pick an option. I know that I am going to kiss my partner...that, given a few more moments, he is going to lean forwards, and our lips are going to meet, a scenario that I never thought possible. That, one way or another, our relationship is going to change...though for better or for worse, I can't tell. I know that it is going to happen, and I am surprised to find that I am happy about it, eager. I lean closer, although not nearly close enough, and wait for him to move…  
  
Outside, a horn honks loudly, and John turns his head to look, tearing his eyes away from our gaze. I am startled out of my reverie, the moment broken. It takes me a couple of seconds to reorient myself. John is sitting across the table from me, large hands cradling his coffee mug. I can see his eyes growing heavy, and I realize with a pang that this is a guy who would get up at two o' clock in the morning and drive all the way across town just because a friend was having a tough time sleeping. God. If only guys were like this in real life... John sees the smile on my face and raises an eyebrow.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
I feel a sudden lump in my throat, but I swallow it and tilt my head to stare at him. When I speak, my voice is much steadier than I thought it would be, and I am thankful for that.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
He has a look on his face that says 'yeah right', and I know he doesn't believe me. Somehow, I feel obligated to explain what I mean, and so I do, not even stopping to think about what I'm saying.  
  
"It's just...dammit, John, you're one in a million."  
  
He looks confused, and I feel myself blushing again. I can't believe that I said something that...*stupid*. Barely even giving him a chance to process my words, I slide my hand across the table and rest it on top of his.  
  
"It's late, John. Go home."  
  
He sighs, reluctantly.  
  
"You sure you're alright?"  
  
I smile softly.  
  
"Positive."  
  
He yawns and rubs his eyes, then stands up.  
  
"Kay, then..."  
  
I hustle him towards the door, and hand him his jacket. He puts it on, a bemused smile on his face, and I can't help but wonder what he's thinking about. He opens the door, carefully, and just as I think he's going to leave, he turns around.  
  
"Hey, Mon...if you ever need a friend, someone to talk to...I'm here. You know that, right?"  
  
I smile, close to crying from the kindness of his words.  
  
"I know that."  
  
He nods, but continues to stand there, as if he's not sure of what to do next. I save him the trouble.  
  
"Goodnight, John."  
  
My voice is gentle, but firm. He inclines his head towards me.  
  
"Night, Mon."  
  
He ambles off down the hall with that sleepy, half-awake walk of his, and I close the door softly  
  
I return to the kitchen, intent on cleaning up, only to find that the table is bare, our coffee mugs rinsed and placed gently in the sink.  
  
I remember days when Brad would stay at my house, and we'd stay up late drinking coffee and just talking, much like what John and I just did. Brad would leave, and I'd go back to the kitchen, only to find his dirty mug left on the table, sometimes accompanied by a napkin or two. It never occurred to him to help me by cleaning it up, and to tell the truth, it never bothered me that he didn't. But now... John did just that, and I didn't ask him to. He's just polite, that's all, chivalrous. I pride myself on being modern, on not needing a guy like that, but for some strange reason, that touches me, so much so that I can feel tears film my eyes. I laugh, and I brush them away. I must be getting soft in my old age.  
  
I slump down at the table, lost in thought. He really is the perfect guy; kind, polite, funny, and completely adorable. I wonder if John and I could ever be more than just friends, more like what Brad and I had...only a thousand times better.  
  
My inner conscious snorts at me, a very unladylike sound. *Yeah, right. Maybe in one of your parallel universes.*  
  
Or maybe, just maybe, in this one.  
  
I sigh, and swipe my hand over the empty kitchen table, its top strangely devoid of coffee mugs. Then I switch off the light, and head down the hall to my bedroom.  
  
Maybe... 


End file.
